


Why Not?

by ZenyZootSuit



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, But you were thinking it too, Coda, Hate Sex, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Period Typical Slurs, Rough Sex, Self-Indulgent, The author tried to be canon compliant, They run into each other beat each other up and fuck, Tommy Shelby: why not?, season 4, that's all this is, they hate each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 22:51:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15592545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenyZootSuit/pseuds/ZenyZootSuit
Summary: He may have been already mildly drunk from the whiskey he kept in his desk. He had never been so drunk as to forget his surroundings. Except of course that one fucking time.





	Why Not?

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah this is a bit far fetched even for me but I thought, hell why not heh. Luca and Tommy use some period typical slurs, just fyi. I can’t believe I actually wrote this.

*******

How they ended up in the same pub, Tommy had no idea.

And he had had one hell of a day, goddamnit. So what if he’d walked out of his office on a whim late at night without backup and had gone in the first pub he’d come across (decidedly not the Garrison and blatantly against his own rules) with the intent of getting hammered enough to forget the events of the rest of the night? Do forgive him, it was nearly two in the morning. 

He may have been already mildly drunk from the whiskey he kept in his desk. He had never been so drunk as to forget his surroundings. Except of course that one fucking time.

He had been ready to tuck into his whiskey, having settled into a nice corner, when it occurred to him that something wasn’t right. He froze, back pressed to the wall, eyes scanning the dimly lit pub. At there, on the other side of the room, was none other than Luca fucking Changretta.

The slimy bastard was staring right at him, bloody fucking piece of wood between his teeth, and Tommy was sick of this game. He glared right back. So this was it, then. Stupidly, he was alone, undoubtedly outnumbered (though he couldn’t immediately pick out any other Italians in the pub), had quite literally backed himself into a corner, and was pissed off enough to not give a damn.

_Come on you fucking bastard. Do something. Just try it._

The odds were against him, but Tommy had every intention of doing some damage before going out. But the man didn’t move. He just sat there, nonchalantly chewing on that stick and staring at Tommy. Fine. In that case, Tommy was going to enjoy his whiskey.

…Never a man of inaction, enjoying his whiskey turned out to mean downing it in one long swallow before slamming the glass on the table and crossing the pub to meet the smug Italian, hat clenched in his hand.

“Jumping the gun a little bit, aren’t you?”

“Mmm, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I’m just here having a drink,” the Italian drawled in response. Tommy was not in the mood for this. 

“You’re really going to try it here? We agreed. No civilians.”

“So we did.” He glanced around the room. “Doesn’t appear as if I’ve killed any.” He leaned forward, looking Tommy dead in the eye. “But then again, we also agreed no cops.”

“So we did.”

The Italian smirked, same as when he’s flicked the bullet across the table bearing John’s name. Tommy’s blood boiled.

He rested his hands on the table and leveled a glare at the other man. “You want to fight? Let’s fight.”

Luca looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow.

Oh yes. Tommy could fight.

*******

Tommy Shelby hadn’t lived as long as he had in his line of work because he was stupid. But he could have fooled anyone by following the very bastard who had shot his brother and was intent on murdering him and the rest of his family into the back room of the pub.

Yes indeed, that’s how he and the Italian ended up beating each other bloody in the back room of a nameless pub, taking out their anger at the drawn out and bloody war on each other, just for the sheer release of it. It became increasingly obvious that Luca had no intention of killing Tommy this night. No, killing Tommy wasn’t going to be enough after the stunt Tommy pulled with his friend the cop. And it was equally as obvious that Tommy had drunk more than he thought. So Luca would live to see the morning as well, which made Tommy rage. And yes, that is in fact when Tommy ended up against the edge of a table, Luca’s thigh between his own.

Not long ago, Polly had been scoffing at him, _I will put that on your gravestone! Tommy Shelby: why not?_ And really, why the hell not. He’d always gotten off on men covered in blood.

So yes, that is in fact how Tommy Shelby ended up bent over a table getting fucked by Luca fucking Changretta.

Polly had been right. Even Tommy couldn’t believe he was actually doing this.

“You’ve done this before,” hissed the Italian, a hand rough between Tommy’s shoulder blades, his cock hard in his ass.

“So have you,” Tommy ground out, nails digging into the wood. Luca snorted, but didn’t deny it, instead fisting his hand in the material of Tommy’s jacket, pushing him harder against the surface of the table.

“Who’d have thought it,” Luca panted, a smirk evident in his voice. “Tommy Shelby, a fucking queer.”

Tommy ignored the barb.

“The things people say about you, Tommy. They say you and that Jew down in London…”

Tommy ground his teeth and clenched down hard enough to make Luca grunt. “The things they say about you, Luca. You and that Wop, Matteo.”

If the way Luca pushed him viciously against the table was anything to go on, fucking into him at a punishing pace intended to hurt, Tommy would say he hit the nail on the head. So, naturally, Tommy continued.

“Is this what you wanted? To smear my name on top of killing me?”

“That would be ideal.”

“How exactly did you expect this to go? How did you plan to let it slip that Tommy Shelby lets men fuck him in his spare time—“ Tommy shut his eyes and huffed out a breath at a particularly well placed thrust. “Without it getting out that you too are a fucking queer? _Just like me_.” He punctuated that with a well time clench, wrenching a huff of breath out of Luca’s throat.

Neither man lasted particularly long. Tommy, feeling vindicated enough with the well placed sting, shoved a hand down between his legs to get himself off. No matter how much he liked -preferred- it rough, like hell if he was going to come untouched for Luca fucking Changretta. But equally like hell if he wasn’t going to get off from this.

By God he hated this man like no other, but that just seemed to make it so much _better_.

He bit down hard on his tongue as he came, almost giddy with the sheer primal release of it. Luca was soon to follow suit.

And so Tommy found himself sitting on the edge of the table as smug as he could, pants still bunched unashamedly around his thighs (purely to unsettle the other man), glaring at the Italian who stood staring right back at him, straightening his shirt.

“You got something on me, Luca. But don’t forget that I’ve got something on you, too, now.”

“Though nothing either of us can prove.” The Italian smirked. “I’ll see you around, Tommy. You’re a damn good fuck.” 

The door shut behind him and Tommy let out a breath. He allowed himself the span of two more breath to sit there in his disheveled state and process what he had just willingly taken part in.

Later, as Tommy walked home, a cigarette held between his lips, a small traitorous part of him mused that it was a shame there was all this bloodshed between the two families. Luca was a damn good fuck, too.

Tommy could hardly wait to throw his body in the Cut.

 

**_El Fin_ **


End file.
